


The Mark of You on My Skin

by BeesKnees



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Flowers, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie Cresta works at Mockingjay Tattoo and wears her artwork on her arms: mermaid sleeves in cupcake pink and turquoise blue. Finnick Odair, who works at the flower shop next door, asks her to draw something for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark of You on My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Babydoll Ria (Babydoll_Ria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babydoll_Ria/gifts), [thewildwilds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildwilds/gifts).



> Now with [art](http://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/post/115002596808/and-finished-my-ladiiies-from-left-to-right) by the lovely thewildwilds.

She can hear the door open and then clang shut from the back of the shop.

“You're late,” she calls without looking up from her sketchpad.

“I brought you tea from Peeta's,” Johanna shouts back.

“You're still late,” Annie answers. She expects Johanna to come into the back and bring her the drink, prattling on about why she's late. It's only when she doesn't appear that Annie looks up. She can just see Johanna, clad in a loose red-and-black plaid shirt (probably Gale's) and a pair of black skinny jeans. She's leaning forward, pressed up against the front window. 

“Holy shit,” Johanna says.

“What?” Annie asks.

“Come here,” Johanna says, waving her forward. 

“I'm working,” Annie protests.

“ _Come here_ ,” Johanna says more insistently. Annie sighs. She knows at this point it's easier just to play along with Johanna. She gets up, dropping her pad into her chair, and walks over to where Johanna is pressed as close to the glass as she can get. Her dark hair is cut crookedly, and she has a thick streak of red down the front. Out of all the girls who work in the shop, Johanna has the most tattoos – by far. There's hardly an inch of her skin that isn't covered. She's wearing a tank top underneath the flannel shirt, and the piece that Annie did for her peers over the top – a girl in wolf skin, eyes looming and luminescent. Jo's first piece is visible too, a small slice of a crescent moon just beneath her left ear, already a little faded. 

Johanna taps a nail against the glass and Annie leans in, looking out, trying to see what Jo has made such a fuss about.

“What?” Annie asks again. Johanna grabs the back of her head and makes her look at a more extreme angle. 

The shop next to them has been closed for the last few months, but now it's teeming with activity. A few people are walking in and out, unloading flowers from the back of a truck. 

“Oh,” Annie says. “Florist?” She's not sure what about this has caught Johanna's attention, but then he walks out of the shop. Shirtless and perfectly tanned. At least six feet tall and just the most _beautiful_ thing Annie has ever looked at. He's probably about their age, and stops for a moment, looking back toward the shop where somebody's talking to him. He laughs, and if possible, gets even better looking, brimming with happiness for a moment. His smile is _perfect_ , and Annie, who is not the type to gawk over a good-looking boy, feels herself go weak at the knees. Her fingers begin to itch with the need to draw.

Johanna smugly sips her coffee.

He climbs into the bed of the truck and bends at the waist.

“Thank _you_ , God,” Johanna breathes, looking skyward for a moment.

“Hello? Phone is ringing. Anybody going to answer it?” Cashmere says as she pounds down the stairs from her apartment. 

“What?” Annie asks. 

“Come here,” Johanna insists, and suddenly Cashmere is wedged with them in the window, staring as he climbs back out of the truck, carrying two barrels of sunflowers. Cashmere whistles, low. The phone goes on ringing. 

“Did Haymitch say anything about who was moving in?” Johanna asks, referring to their landlord. 

“No,” Cashmere asks. She's the owner of their shop, Mockingjay Tattoos, the only all-female tattoo shop in the city. They'd only been open for about a year, but had accumulated a following already. It was the three of them, and then Katniss, who was new. (Who, quite fortunately, also happened to be dating the baker across the street. Something they regularly took advantage of.) 

“Jo,” Cashmere says, fishing around in her purse until she comes up with money. “Go to Peeta's and get some pastries.”

“I was just there,” Johanna argues, crooking her neck at an even stranger angle. “I wish _he_ was across the street.”

“Johanna,” Cashmere says again, pressing the bill into her face. “Go across the street.”

Johanna huffs, but then goes. She pretends not to even look at the group still walking in and out of the flower shop. Cashmere and Annie remain fixated until Johanna returns, the familiar white box in her hands. 

“ _Here_ ,” Johanna says pointedly, handing the box over to Cashmere, who immediately hands it back to Annie.

“Annie, go find out who the new neighbors are,” Cashmere says. 

“I'm the _one_ who bought them!” Johanna protests, trying to reclaim the box. Cashmere pulls a face, her blond hair bobbing on top of her head. 

“Annie's nicer,” Cashmere says. “And besides, you have Gale.”

Johanna crosses her arms, but doesn't protest anymore. Annie heads out into the sunshine, suddenly aware of how her fingers are covered in smears from her drawing. She's wearing a bright blue skirt with a white shirt, and her sleeves are completely visible – swirls of turquoise blue and cupcake pink that swirl into ocean tide waves, blending into a mermaid on her left arm, and a shock of a jellyfish on her right. She totters unsteady, runs a hand up to smooth down her hair, and then heads over to the shop. 

_He_ comes out again, almost on cue – nearly straight into her. 

“Woah,” he says at the last moment, putting hands on her shoulder to steady her, and he's suddenly right there – and goodness, that chest is even more impressive up close and in person. He smells surprisingly good too, considering how warm it is and the fact that he's been working in the sunshine for awhile. But there's something that smells almost like coconut underneath a hint of dirt and the floral scent of the flowers. 

“You okay?” he asks, smiling and peering down into her face.

“Yes,” Annie answers, managing to find her voice again. (She's fairly sure she's flushing.) “I, uh, work next door. At the tattoo shop. We brought you these.” She manages to present the box to him. 

“I'm Finnick,” he answers immediately, still flashing that smile at her. He holds out a hand, and she accepts it. His thumb leaves a small imprint of dirt on the back of her hand. 

“Annie,” she answers, waiting perhaps a beat too long to offer her own name. 

“You should meet my grandmother,” Finnick says, turning back in toward the shop. She trails after him, not sure what else to do. A woman stands at the back, trying to organize the chaos filtering inside. She's shorter than Annie, and looks even smaller beside Finnick. Her grey hair is tied back, but still frizzes out from her head.

“Mags, this is Annie,” Finnick says, setting the box of pastries down on top of the counter. “She works next door.” 

“Oh!” Mags answers, stopping in the middle of whatever she's saying to smile at Annie. She leans across the counter, taking Annie's hand in hers. “It's nice to meet you, sweetie. We haven't been bothering you with the noise, have we?”

“No, no,” Annie says, shaking her head hastily. “We just wanted to come and say hi. Well, I did. I work with three other girls.” She's rambling now and has to take a breath to slow herself down. People keep coming and going, and Finnick has peered into the box and taken out a doughnut. He has powdered sugar dusting his lower lip. 

“Well, that's very friendly of you,” Mags says. “Thank you.” She turns to Finnick in the next breath, asking him if he's seen the vases. Finnick makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and then starts to trail back toward the truck waiting outside. Annie follows after him, not knowing where else to go.

“Are you going to be working here too?” she asks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Finnick answers. “In between taking classes down at the university. It's always been her dream to start this up.” He grins wryly. “She tried to retire, but it didn't take, so here we are.” 

He leans against the rear of the truck without actively looking for the vases Mags had asked for. He looks up for a moment, and then grins, looking almost embarrassed.

“Are those your friends?” he asks. Annie glances over her shoulder. Cashmere and Johanna are still standing in the window – Katniss has joined them now. All three of them look determinedly away when Finnick spots them. Cashmere starts typing on her phone, Johanna knocking back her coffee as if she's been drinking it along. 

“Yes,” Annie answers laughing. 

“Hi ladies,” Finnick says, leaning past Annie to wave at the group. Annie can see the red that climbs up Katniss' neck from here.

“How long have you worked there?” Finnick asks.

“Since it opened,” Annie answers. “Last year. I've been taking art classes at the university at night.”

“You'll have to show me some of your work sometime,” Finnick says, smiling again.

Annie holds out one of her arms, showing off her sleeve. 

“You did this?” he asks, surprised, stepping in closer. He wraps one of his broad hands around her forearm, examining the mermaid up close.

“Well, I did the initial sketches for it,” Annie admits. “Johanna was the one who did the tattooing.” 

“It's beautiful,” Finnick says. He looks up at her as he says it, and her stomach does that weird thing again: liquid, too warm, and she's suddenly aware of every bit of his skin touching hers. He runs his fingers lightly over the tail of the mermaid, whisper light.

“I didn't know tattoos had a texture to them,” Finnick says. His nose crinkles just a little bit. “Did it hurt?”

Annie laughs. 

“When people say that, they just want to know how _much_ it hurts,” she answers knowingly. “It does.”

“But it's worth it?” Finnick asks, and he's not teasing, all serious. 

“It is,” Annie answers just as serious. Her voice is a little softer. “I like being able to make my body a work of art.” She flushes after she says it, not sure why she's let something so personal slip from her, even if it's true. She likes being able to see the colors on her skin, to know that it belongs to her and her alone. She likes knowing that her friend was a part of that process, that she and Johanna are forever linked by the work they've put on each other. She likes the memories she associates with the art, remembers the first time she began sketching out the mermaid – originally construed from drawings she did when she was younger and her mother would take her down to the beach. 

Finnick smiles though. He doesn't make fun of her. He leans back into the truck and picks up a loose sunflower and presents it to her.

“For you, Annie,” he says. 

Annie flushes once again, but takes the flower.

“Thank you,” she says, and then retreats to the shop.

Johanna teases her mercilessly for the rest of the day.

…

Annie blinks back the sleep from her eyes as she fishes her keys out of her purse. She opens the shop most days, which she doesn't mind. It's quiet in the mornings usually, and she can get some sketches done. 

The flower shop has a fresh sign up front, and a red wagon sits in front of it filled with dirt. Posies, pink and purple, curl out of it, an invitation to passersby to come inside.

Annie lets herself into the shop. Finnick's sunflower sits in an empty bottle they had found, and the flower tilts drunkenly and happily sideways. She smiles just at the sight of it. 

She picks up her sketchpad and sits behind the desk, and begins drawing – flowers, without thinking about it, curling stems with sharp juts of leaves. The door opens, and Annie expects it to be Katniss. 

“I hope you brought me coffee,” she quips without looking up.

“I didn't, but I could run across the street and get you some,” an amused voice answers. Annie's head shoots up. Finnick stands in the doorway, smiling with those deep dimples. He's wearing a shirt today, white. He's wearing a necklace too, the bump of which she can see underneath the shirt. 

“Sorry,” Annie says hastily. “I thought you were one of the girls.”

“I saw you come in. I came in early to do the arrangements for the day. Water the plants. But I thought I'd come see the shop.” He suddenly looks unsure of himself, an expression she wouldn't have expected to see on him. “I can go though. If you're busy,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder.

“No, no,” Annie says, shaking her head. She pushes some of her hair out of her face. “I mean, I can show you around. The shop's not that big.” 

It's just the the three rooms, really. He's standing in the middle of their tiny waiting room, three chairs pressed in front of the window they had spied on him through yesterday. Their books of flash art sit on the small table wedged next to chairs. The rest of the room is littered with various artwork they've done over the years – some of Cashmere's sculptures and two of Johanna's paintings. 

Finnick meanders back to where she sits behind the desk. Behind her is the wall of the tattoos they're working on, drawn on thin sheets of paper, all of them tacked on top of each other. He looks at them for a moment, eyes dragging over the drawings. He hums quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“These are yours, aren't they?” Finnick asks, sliding to the drawings at the very end. 

“How can you tell?” Annie asks. He's right. Finnick shrugs. 

“They seem like you,” he answers. She's not quite sure what he means, but she takes it as a compliment all the same. 

She gets up from where she's sitting and heads into the back. He follows her dutifully, taking everything in as he goes. The backroom has the three seats, adjustable depending on what they're working on. They share stations as needed, but Cashmere, Jo, and she each have their favored spots, and it shows. 

She sits down on her stool, picks up her tattoo gun, and brandishes it with a poised smile. He sinks down onto the chair in front of her.

“What would you tattoo on me?” he asks, a challenge. 

“That's not usually how this works, you know,” Annie teases. 

“Humor me,” Finnick answers, leaning back onto his elbows.

“You seem like a Chinese character kind of guy,” Annie answers wryly. 

“Ow,” Finnick says, but he's laughing. “So, after I decide to get my Chinese character, which I've had mistranslated naturally, what happens?” 

“I draw it up,” Annie answers. “Transfer it from the paper to your skin. Probably, you know, on the inside of your wrist so you can see it for all time.” She takes his hand into hers without thinking about it. She's still holding her gun in the other hand. “And then I'd ink over the lines from the drawing. Make it permanent.”

She's suddenly aware of how close they are again. Finnick looks up at her, and it feels like the room just freezes. Time slows down. (She can't believe that she met him only yesterday. Surely, it has to be longer than that?) 

“Would you draw something for me?” he asks, but still quiet.

“Of course,” Annie answers.

The door bangs out front, and Annie pulls away hastily. The moment's been broken, and she feels as if she's been caught. Johanna wanders into the back, throwing her bag down before, and already complaining about her bike ride in before she realizes that Finnick is here.

“Hey boy wonder,” she says, grinning at him and then Annie in turn. 

…

Finnick starts bringing her flowers. One each day. He tells her that they're the ones not good enough to be included in arrangements at the shop, but she suspects that's not the case. Each one looks perfect to her. Asters, daisies, dahlias. 

(“I can't even keep a plant alive in my apartment,” Annie confesses to him, laughing.)

She tries to get the colors down in her drawings. She starts sketching things for Finnick, things that remind her of him: She falls back on her ocean theme for awhile, but she never works up the nerve to show him the shells she traces out; sunsets bleeding into oceans, more color than anything else, but soothing all the same. She plays with a few animals, too, dolphins and birds, but nothing feels right. She playfully shows him a little frog, spotted with color, and he laughs, but she's not serious. 

She keeps coming back to flowers. Her sunflower, edged out with blue and green, and just a touch of orange, to balance the yellow. She keeps it stylized, draws a little bit on Alphonse Mucha, and she falls in love with the drawing, but she can't bring herself to show it to Finnick. She feels silly suggesting he get a sunflower on his skin. 

They're sitting outside Peeta's one day, languishing in the sunshine, both of them not working at the same time for a rare instance. Finnick buys them both lemonade and they hold hands across the table, something that still sparks a delighted thrill up Annie's spine. Finnick traces her sleeves with his fingertips, one of his new favorite hobbies, as if he'll find something new in her artwork. (To be fair, he still does.) 

A gust of wind catches some of the loose sheets of paper from her sketchbook, and Annie cries out before she can stop herself. Finnick rushes to his feet and runs into the street, grabbing the pages before they can be swept off entirely. He brings them back to her, a little dirty, but no worse for wear. The last one he holds is their sunflower, drawn over and over again. Finnick stares at it, surprised.

“This is us,” he says. 

Annie nods, biting her lip. 

“It's beautiful,” he says, and then grins sheepishly. “I need to come up with better words for your work. Beautiful doesn't do it credit.” 

“Oh,” Annie answers. “You like it?”

“Of course I do,” Finnick answers. (He looks uncertain again, just for a moment. It's a look Annie loves on him. She had expected him to always be so self-confident, but there's an underpainting of shyness to him that makes him even brighter in her eyes.)

“Would you put this on me?” Finnick asks, the words tumbling off his tongue in jumbles. 

“If you'd like,” Annie answers, nodding. 

…

Annie cleans Finnick's leg carefully, the hair already shaved away. He had teased her while they had done that, but now that they're moving onto the next part, he's a little jittery. She applies the paper to his skin, watching the outline peel away, blue-tinted, onto his leg. 

“Is that okay?” she asks, looking up at him. He peers down at his leg, and then nods without answering her out loud. 

“Okay,” Annie answers. “Just try and keep still. Breathing helps. Let me know if you need a break.” 

She leans in, the gun balanced in between her gloved hands. The motor of the machine starts to whir, a familiar and calming sound for her. She starts at the edge of one of the petals. As soon as the needles touch Finnick's skin, he goes ramrod still, too taut.

“Are you okay?” she asks stopping. He's bone-white, and he shakes his head. 

“Maybe not,” he answers. (She's had this happen before, but rarely. Usually by the time someone's in her chair, they've decided they can deal with this part. The pain demands attention, yes, but most people can power through it.) 

“Oh,” she answers. She looks at the hint of a line on Finnick's leg. An apostrophe. 

“I'm sorry, Annie,” he says immediately. “I like the drawing, I really do.”

“Finnick,” she says, laughing. “It's your body.” She slides down and kisses him. “You know Johanna is going to give you hell for this though.” She rubs her nose against his.

“I know,” he says, sighing.

…

In the end, she claims their sunflower for herself. She has Johanna tattoo it on the back of her neck while Finnick watches, squeezing her hand gently. She breathes in and tucks her fingers against his pulse. 

From this angle, she can see his legs; his still-shaved one sticks out ridiculously. She'd doodled on it the night before, trying out trident shapes. This has become their new ritual: She doesn't try to pin down singular drawings for him, but experiments on anything she pleases. He has a looping row of daisies across his shoulder blades right now, hidden neatly by his shirt. Days before, she'd drawn him a mermaid to match her own, the scales an exquisite purple that he hasn't quite managed to wash off entirely yet. 

(And one night, when they'd drunk a bit too much wine at Katniss' and then had stumbled back to her apartment, a string of nonsensical Chinese characters in a neat row across his hip bones. He'd fallen off the bed, laughing and squirming, trying to get away from her.)

Finnick hums his approval when Johanna finishes it and begins to tape a bandage over it.

“I suppose we're stuck together now, Annie Cresta,” Finnick says with a smile as he winds their fingers together.

“I suppose so,” Annie says, tracing the apostrophe on his calf.

“Well, you quite literally left a mark of ownership on me,” Finnick answers. He kisses her, and Annie's toes curl with pleasure.


End file.
